


Howling at the Sun

by Dekka



Series: Mitch Marner Whump Fics [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Concussions, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Leaf, M/M, Post-Concussion Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 02:25:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12878205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dekka/pseuds/Dekka
Summary: When it happens, there’s no use even trying to take stock of his body. Everything just feels covered, heavy.Aka: Mitch goes down hard and doesn't come back up the same. As always, Auston helps him find his way home.





	Howling at the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after I failed my exam so that I wouldn't think about it so sorry if this blows, it gets better at the end I promise.

The crowd is still going wild at the hit when Paul finally gets to Mitch.

He's sitting up, so players float around unbothered, waiting for play to continue, but confused by the doting vet hovering close by as the trainer starts his evaluation. Rielly doesn't seem ready to move, his hand on the rookie's shoulder as his panicked eyes beg Paul to do something, anything.

Minutes go, doubling, when the wave comes for more medical staff. 

It's the hard faces of the doctors, paramedics, and extended trainers making their way to Mitch that forces a hush through the once-deafening rink, and, like sharks smelling blood, players swim closer for news.

***

"I didn't see it happen," someone down the bench says.

"I did." Everyone looks to the other player, but he's speechless.

Across the ice Mitch is siting up in a sea of medical personal and, if the rumors being passed from player to player hold any truth, he's completely incoherent.

***

Hot and warm, soft cotton presses against his skull. It leaves air bubbles that can't be filled, gaps in time and space that are painful to think about.

"We're going to lay you down," the eyes in front of him say.

Those eyes turn to hands, then multiply, melting the heat from his body with the press of a cold world at his back.

***

"Kid's scrambled," a Bruins player says to his teammates.

They nod, wincing in sympathy.

It's the cost of the game, but still- _He's so young._

***

Above his head Mitch can feel the arena's sky darken, even with stars so bright and banners lit with faces of people he remembers looking up to as a kid.

" _You're doing great_ ," the faces say.

Their calm smiles turn to unhappy frowns soon after, as if knowing he can't follow their thoughts. All he knows is the way their downturned lips pull at their skin. They'll get wrinkles fast, living like this, blowing from the rafters.

As if dancing to this thoughts, those very rafters sway double time and Mitch lets his eyes fall close, giving into the motion he didn't even know he was fighting until the relief of having them shut rushes through him.

" _Keep your eyes open_." It's a command, but the backs of his eyelids feel like a tub of hot water. 

Unharmed, he soaks in oblivion.

***

Everyone's shaken. Times like these are reminders of what's at steak when you put your body on the line almost every night.

"He smiled at me and called me a mountain," Morgan confesses in the locker room that night.

It does little to stanch the wild fire of speculation around the room.

"Did he answer any of Paul's questions?" Naz asks, more than familiar with the concussion protocol their athletic trainer has to follow.

Morgan hesitates but ultimately shakes his head. "When he asked what year it was Mitchy said 'Brooklyn'."

Facts settle like lead in stomachs and slowly the locker room clears out.

***

They put Mitch on wheels, then put those wheels into bigger wheels.

The confetti in the sky turns to rain in less than a heart beat, as if congratulating him for making it this far.

Next to join the party are the clouds, turning into white ceilings that move by their own accord.

Like a clock Mitch is turned when the movements stop, his insides rushing out.

Wool fills his mouth and blearily he remembers to cough to clear his throat. Breathing's important, that much he knows.

There's not a lot going on that he does understand, but that's more of an annoyance than a problem right now. At his side, an angel touches his forehead then lets a taste of heaven into his mouth.

He doesn't question her presence or what she does, too amazed by her aura.

Bathed in blinding light, she smiles at him one last time, then leaves him in the darkness.

With so much to worry about he drifts off to sleep peacefully. Ignorance, it seems, is bliss in this world and the next.

***

Their optional skate has never had such a low attendance. Babcock even slips away for half the time, locked away in meetings that can't be avoided with team doctors and the GM.

Later that day Coach messages the team group chat with news that every player waiting outside the door to Mitch's hospital room already knows- it's bad.

***

Red turns blue, then grey.

The angel comes back every hour, a smile on her face and a feather in her hand.

She tickles his elbow, then bites at his wrist. The needles she holds are big and lead wires into his body. They don't hurt, even though he knows they should.

When he pulls at them, testing their strength, testing his adhesion to them, the angel yells, so he stops.

His curiosity is banished, but his held grudge doesn't last long and when she smiles the room brightens back up again, as if the darkness was just a passing cloud.

***

A man with uneven nostrils joins the pack of wolves who have been by his bed since morning. Even with the new addition the wolves don't leave, still talking loudly about things Mitch doesn't understand. 

His angel brings the man into the room but doesn't stay and even though he longs for her presence when the wolves are there, he finds himself too distracted to care when she goes.

The man with uneven nostrils has a prettier smile than her.

He even knows how to change colors, flushing blue, then settling with pink cheeks and ears.

"You've got a pretty smile," the wolves howl, a repeat of words Mitch is familiar with. Somehow he knows that he's said these words to the man by his side more than enough times. The wolves mock them both unfairly, holed mouths gruesome and forced into smiles.

Despite the stretch of their lips Mitch can tell that the pack is sad and he wonders why.

***

"Shut up," Auston gets used to saying. His teammates are having more fun with this than should be allowed. Deep down he knows they're just trying to keep the mood light, positive, but he's not feeling it.

It's been days and progress is disguising itself in a sick dance, two steps forward, two back, and it's starting to get to him.

Mitch catches Auston's hand with his own IV-filled one.

"You'll stay when the wolves leave?" He asks, eyes open, honest, trusting, and somehow still so _blank_.

The guys rightfully quiet down after that, shocked into silence. Auston knew Mitch wasn't recognizing them, but this is a whole other level.

"I'll get the nurse," Marty offers, their spell of laughter long gone.

They're forced to leave soon after so that Mitch can rest before they send him for more testing.

It’s hard bringing home such harsh news. The guys in the locker room expect shreds of hope, but good news is hard to come by.

"He lit up when Auston got there," Brownie chirps, but there's no heat behind it, not much of anything behind it, really. The words just hang in the air, players nodding as if that makes any sense.

Auston doesn't let the words settle and fester, pushing them away to focus on the calming routine of gearing up for a game.

***

Another angel joins the rank the next day. She's wise and tall and reminds Mitch of oak trees and school days.

“Mom," rolls off his tongue the second he sees her and it feels right.

She cries, but she smiles, face filled with too many emotions.

"Fourths," he tells her like his brain begs him to. It's supposed to make her happy, thinking of perfectly cut sandwiches and parent teacher conferences, but her smile turns sour.

"Get some sleep," she tells him, kissing the back of his hand.

He doesn't know how to say that he already is, but he closes his eyes anyway to please her.

As he dreams her hand is gentle against his forehead, pushing hair from his face. It's an easy feeling to focus on, so he does.

It isn't until he wakes up from not sleeping and she's gone that he realizes she touched him as if one wrong move would break him. He doesn't feel fragile, but day by day he starts questioning himself. 

***

Another new face joins his sea after that. The new face brings yet another new face, his second in command.

The second in command calls Mitch 'Marns' and holds his hand for two days straight, pointing to a world in the corner of the room where figures fly around on glass.

"Davo said the bet's off since you're out."

Mitch knows he isn't out, _he's here_.

"Davo's out," he says reasonably, glancing around the room to make sure. The second in command smiles.

"Yeah Marns, that's him up there." The world in the corner spins and Mitch's stomach follows the movement, spilling over onto his sheets.

His angel comes back then, forcing the second in command back against the wall as she works, all while she chastises him for turning on the Tv. Later she brings her troops and together they push and pull at his body until they're pleased.

The second in command doesn't smile for the rest of the night, even when the team he claims belongs to Mitch wins.

***

"How're you doing?" Connor asks into the silence of the car.

Auston shrugs, eyes tracing the passing street signs.

The highway breaks off, the exit for the hospital bright enough to show the weary eyes of both men.

They're exhausted from the game, but unwilling to go anywhere that's not back to Marns.

Connor knows months ago that Mitchy would've gone to hell and back for him or Dylan, but looking to his passenger's seat, he thinks that alliance might have shifted.

"Mitchy will be okay," he says, not leaving room for argument, but Auston just nods, numb.

***

Sleep is nice, but confusing. Dreams blend well with reality and sometimes don't stop even after his eyes open.

This time Mitch wakes up with a mouthful of flowers and the man with the pretty smile at his side.

"We won," he says. He's 34. He's thick lines under eyes and cold weather and cactuses and _home_.

His smile makes the press of the blankets too warm.

As if singing for 34, the machines above them wail and the second in command leaves the glass skater, Davo, and the wall he's been glued to just to move the sheets away.

It feels nice to be so loved, even when his angel comes bursting into the room as if it’s on fire and forces 34, Davo, and the second in command to leave. 

***

"You shouldn't let your team fly home alone," Auston tells Connor later that night as they watch the steady rise and fall of Mitchy’s chest.

Blearily Connor’s eyes blink open, shifting his weight but being careful for Dylan, who’s out cold, drooling against his shoulder. ”We don't play until Tuesday and Dylan doesn't need to be back to Arizona ‘till Wednesday morning."

Auston looks pained, angry, before he lashes out. "This isn't going to fix itself anytime soon."

He leaves before Connor can stop him.

The temper was unexpected, but Connor thinks if anything could make a man crack, it would be this situation. Auston is under enough stress that he decides to let him go cool off in peace. Later, he thinks, he'll try to confront the obvious issue of Matts' hopelessness, but either way he and Dylan wont book flights home just yet, too anxious to be away from news when they have the option to stay.

***

Like sun rays, emotions sort themselves out, periods of darkness followed by light.

"I know you," Mitch tells the second in command.

His angel, his 34, leaves at his words, taking his pretty smile from the room.

"He's too good for the wolves anyway," Mitch tells the others, a secrete between enemies.

The second in command, his real name- Mitch knows- is Dylan.

And Dylan smiles biggest when he thinks Mitch can't see. He's unlike the others, who paste their mouths wide like the wolves, false joy radiating as if it'll catch on.

In solidarity, Mitch squeezes the hand in his. ”Everyone else is sad, too.” 

Dylan- Stromer- Dyls, looks up at that, frown growing.

"How can we be happy, Marns, when you're in here?"

The food is nice, the bed is warm, and he has an angel and 34 looking over him.

He shrugs. "Here's not so bad."

Dylan smiles then, a real one, and Mitch realizes for the first time since he got here that his goal is to leave.

***

First he said "Mom," because that word just fit. From there he figures it's like building a house, starting with the basics and slowly working his way up. He doesn't have much experience in construction, but he figures that, at least, he knows better than neuroscience.

'Second in command' became 'Dylan' days ago, who's always with Davo, the one who flies on glass.

The one with the pretty smile, 34, they call 'Matts'. He's familiar, but when Mitch tries saying his name it doesn't feel right yet.

He wont attempt to learn the wolves’ names. There’s just too many of them, always making noises, always moving, always trading places at his bedside.

***

Home slowly becomes scratchy sheets and white walls.

A hospital, he realizes when Dylan and Davo say goodbye.

He knows because they'd never leave him behind like this. He'd have to be in jail or dead, and this, he supposes, by the way people look at him as if he's about to disappear, is closer to one than the other.

"You're not you," one of the wolves had said one day. It made the pack angry, some leave, but Mitch understood, because he didn't know who he was supposed to be, either.

Their friend is gone, their friend is dead, and Mitch mourns him, right along with the pack.

***

"It's been a week, we need to try something more intensive, how do you feel about that Mitchell?"

He never answers but they force him underwater and through fire anyway.

After days of torture he remembers 16 and knows the days of the week and how to tell if it's morning or night time.

They call it improvement and burn his angel right in front of his eyes. She doesn't come back till nighttime to sneak him a glass of chocolate milk.

"I'm still your night aid," she shushes him in the morning when he begs her not to leave again.

He feels juvenile and sad, even though yesterday he didn't know he could feel those things. "Stay now."

Her smile is pained, but firm. "My grandchildren are in town."

Mitch knows that must mean something important by the way she says it, but he just doesn't know. "I'm your grandchildren."

She shakes her head at him and stays. By afternoon he knows his brother Chris is his Mom's son and that his Dad had a Dad once.

This time when she says goodbye he lets her leave.

***

Day eight, Mitch knows when he wakes up.

His Dad drags him to the roof, IV pole right in step, and puts a stick in his hands.

"Remember?" He asks.

The stick is light and it belongs on the ground with the other sticks.

***

He hasn't seen 34 since day seven.

Not like he's counting, or forced to remember every time he’s woken up. 

_“What’s the date? Why are you here? How old are you? How many days have you been here?”_ They ask so many questions in the morning, not even giving him a chance to wake up. 

The hounds still visit, but like the Doctors, even they tire of howling at the sun.

***

Day nine is dizzying, beating him to his core.

Undercurrents sweep him away, tossing him whichever way they please, as if begging for direction. He goes to bed wishing 34 would come back so that he could feel happy again.

***

Day ten brings more names and more tears.

Numbers become words when Auston visits. It's been days.

"Still think my smile is pretty?" He asks.

Mitch can feels his face heat. "It's alright," he lies.

He knows it's a lie because the room dims, even now, whenever 34- whenever Auston- leaves the room.

***

Day eleven clicks.

He wakes up with his neck sore and head pounding, and wonders when he got used to this place.

Breakfast is the same, but after that Auston visits early in the morning and instead of fighting to hold onto every other word to string sense together, Mitch follows the conversation lazily.

"I'm tired, Aus," he admits when Auston calls him out on his exhaustion. Something about his words make the room go still, but for once not in a weird, defying the laws of physics, hallucination-type way.

Auston punctures the silence with one word. “ _Mitch,_ " and it hangs there, blatantly hopeful, daring to drop, even as Auston scrambles up from his chair, nearly flinging himself over the hospital bed to grab at the call button.

"He's back," Auston pants at the nurses, eyes unbelieving as he runs shaking hands through his hair.

It's his reaction that makes Mitch realize the novelty of his cloud-free mind.

They run tests, bring in specialists, and explain with too many medical terms how the swelling in his brain has decreased significantly over night, as if it was that easy all along.

When Mitch questions the ease his main Doctor nods along. "We were worried there could be permanent damage because of the swelling, but you appear to be doing just fine on your own."

Through life Mitch has been taught that quick-fixes never last and he's right, but also gloriously wrong.

The good news lasts until his Doctor reminds them all that he still has a long way to go and should expect to face the full wrath of his concussion symptoms for however long it takes his brain to fully heal. Even that news can't dampen his mood.

He doesn't see Auston again that day, but his family keeps him occupied, basking in the joy of the moment.

***

It takes him a total of twenty-two days to step foot in the ACC. It's a game night but he'll be watching from the suites under the supervision of his parents and an attending nurse.

It's his life now, for however long it takes.

Soon he'll be able to be on his own, back on the ice. There's nothing he wants more, but this, being here, watching his team play, is nice too.

***

Between the lights and sounds of the arena he's walking a thin line, but he holds out until the end.

He hasn't seen most of his teammates in weeks since his discharge from the hospital, so entering the locker room after the media has been pushed out is like coming home after a year at sea.

He gets crowded and hugged and kissed and he never wants it to end. Even Coach pulls him in close, his eyes suspiciously watery.

It's understandable. The last time he saw Mitch was on one of his worst days in the hospital, a day he barely could remember his own name, yet alone the older man who sat by his bedside for hours on end, just talking quietly, filling him in on his team and life outside the four walls that imprisoned him.

"Good to see you kicking, Mitchy."

Under the attention he knows his face is bright red, but he's too happy to care. "Thanks, Coach."

Marty sweeps him up next, gentle as can be as he holds on tight.

"You ever go down like that again and I'll concuss you myself," he threatens. Mitch never watched the YouTube videos of his hit, but from his teammate's faces he guesses it was bad enough to not want to see ever again.

"I bounce back," he shrugs, trying to steer away from his injury. The smile slips from Marty's face for only a millisecond before it's back again, full force.

“'Course you do." He pushes Mitch into the next round of hugs.

"I'm happy you're back, but don't think you're off the hook for calling us wolves for two weeks," Naz chirps before he dives in for his hug. He's just as gentle as Marty, his body a solid wall that promises protection.

When he does finally pull back his smile is soft. "Glad you're back, Mighty Mouse."

The nickname gets a groan, but it's more for appearances than anything. Mitch is more than happy to be back where he belongs, chirps included.

After his rounds, getting double hugged by mom and dad- Mo and Gards- he finds himself sat next to Auston's stall, watching his best friend comb out his hair as players slowly file out of the locker room.

"We hanging out tonight?" Mitch asks, finally adverting his gaze to his hanging feet. His heels pound against their cubbies, but the noise isn't bothering him today like it would've been just a week ago.

"If you're feeling alright, yeah."

Auston has been so overly cautious since Mitch got home, as if not having medical assistance 24/7 would somehow be the straw that breaks the camel's back.

Auston drives in near-perfect silence all the way home, the radio off after he claimed the current hits are trash. Mitch knows his phone is filled with top-ten's, but doesn't call him out on it.

Coming back to Auston's place after nearly a month makes all the stress of the day worth it. It's like he hasn't been truly home until now, snuggled up in the corner of the L-shaped couch in Auston's living room.

"You've gotten too used to people waiting on you," Aus chirps, coming back from his room to sprawl over Mitch and tuck the older's favorite blanket around them. Earlier, they both took the time to putz around in Auston's room, Mitch star-fished on the unmade bed as Auston found them clothes comfortable enough for the night. On the way out Mitch had forgotten to grab the blanket on the bed. It's an issue he's been having, forgetting small things that eventually build to frustrate him.

Auston doesn't start the movie they picked out yet, as if reading Mitch’s mild annoyance at his recovering brain.

"Hey," he prods, elbowing Mitch's side before he pulls him in, against his chest. His hand cards absentmindedly though Mitch's hair, always soothing, always reassuring. "As long as you remember me I can handle you forgetting to grab our blanket every once in a while."

It's meant to be a joke, something Mitch can laugh at to relieve the stress of the situation, but he can feel the way his eyes gather water as his lungs push for air. Betrayed by his own body, he chokes on nothing. He didn't even realize he'd been holding his breath.

"Hey, hey, it's okay." Auston soothes, alarmed. Even his comforting can't stop the swell of emotion building up on Mitch. If anything, it breaks him more, left to give in to the feelings straining his chest.

"They said this could happen- these mood swings," he rushes to explain, blinking away tears as he pushes to sit up, away from Auston.

He feels ridiculous, trying to stanch tears that just won't quit.

"Mitchy," Auston begs. He gets his way eventually, grabbing Mitch's face in his hands to force his gaze up from the floor.

"I don't care how long it takes for you to get better, I'm going to be here every step of the way."

His face is so open, so honest, _so loving_. 

"I- thank you."

***

It's like magnets connecting when it happens, both of them unsure who leaned forward first as their lips slot together, a perfect fit.

It's chaste, slow and monumental, leaving them panting into each other's mouths as they hold onto the moment.

Neither want to pull away. 

"Mitch," Auston pleads, but he doesn't know what for.

Despite everything going on in their lives this feels right, like it's a step they've been waiting to take until the right time came around.

Even as Mitch's nose nuzzles against his the need to see him, to look him in the eye and catalog every thought and expression, wins out over Auston's yearning for proximity. He shifts back enough so that he can really look at him. Even with tears in his eyes, seeing him there, better, is the best thing Auston's ever seen.

"I'm so happy you're back," he chokes out.

All of the worry, anxiety, hopelessness, of the last month comes down to this, releasing between the press of their bodies as Auston leads them to his room, the movie forgotten.

They've shared his bed thousands of times but this is new; the way they purposely cling together, not waiting until the other is dancing on the edge of sleep to snuggle in close.

Auston tucks the blanket back around Mitch, leaving some open for himself. He doesn't know how they went months without this time-halting mold of bodies and now that it's happened, it’s easy to see how well they fit together, like they were destined to end up here all along.

"I love you," he admits, quiet in the dark of the room.

Mitch is already breathing heavy against his collar bone, too exhausted to be awake.

Auston doesn't mind. They have tomorrow and the eternity after that to be together, even if morning does feel like a long wait away.

Still, he figures if he waited months, he can wait till sunrise just fine.

Auston falls asleep easier than he has since the last time Mitch shared his bed, and that, he thinks, should've been the only hint they needed.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments feed the writer and give so much positive motivation to post more! 
> 
> Criticisms are also very much welcome- anything to become a better writer or help get my ideas across clearer.


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